Prodigal Sons
by Xanrivash
Summary: Roxas had only come to the church to find a lost cell phone. Finding and rescuing a lost soul hadn't been in the plans... AU
1. Prodigal's Salvation

Why did cell phones have to be so small and easy to lose?

Roxas would have given a lot to know that particular tidbit right now, but he would have given a lot more to know where his cell phone was right then. It wasn't in his pants pocket, where it usually lived. It wasn't in his coat pocket either, which is where he thought he remembered putting it this morning. It hadn't been in the car, or his room, or anywhere in the house that he'd looked. He'd called Hayner's house, and Hayner said it wasn't there. The only thing he could do was retrace his steps starting from this morning at home before church, when he knew very well he had it, to coming home this evening after the movie, when he realized he'd lost it. He'd already eliminated home; the first place he'd gone after that was church...well, he might as well start with the walk to church, and then the church itself. Except he was already practically at the church, and he hadn't seen it on the sidewalk, in the street, or under a bush anywhere. If it wasn't somewhere in the church, that meant he would have to go home and talk Dad into driving him everywhere else he'd been all day, and that would be an unbelievable pain.

Besides, what if Axel had called or something?...Oh, his phone had better be in the church in that case...he hadn't heard from Axel in almost two years, but every day he prayed and hoped and daydreamed that someday, someday soon...he'd even refused a new cell phone if it meant changing his phone number, because he knew Axel had his old number. He still had Axel's old phone number, but he never, ever answered it no matter how often Roxas tried to call him; he liked to think his brother was just always busy when he happened to call or something and always forgot to call back, but deep inside, he knew Axel had probably sold it for drug money ages ago.

_Axel, you beast, you brute, you drug-addled bastard...don't you know you're breaking every heart in the family? Including mine? Come back...just call home...just let us know you're still alive somewhere..._

He didn't even remember where in church they'd been sitting this morning. Normally, they sat sort of close to the front, on the right side, but not always, and he couldn't remember if today had been an exception or not. Even if it hadn't, that still left six or seven rows of pews the might have been sitting in. It was twilight outside, nearly full dark, and there weren't nearly enough lights on in the building to let him see the floor between or under the pews - if his phone was down there, he'd have to find it by feel, and he was in no mood to have to feel his way around the entire church in the hopes that his phone was actually there. Maybe he should go over to the rectory and ask Father Stone if anyone had found a lost cell phone...would he even know? Did the church have a lost-and-found? This was going to be such a pain in the ass...but he couldn't just give up on the phone. Axel might call.

Resigned to whatever legwork it might take to find his phone, Roxas paced along the aisle at the far right of the building, sighting along every pew as he passed it for a dark bump that might be a phone, without seeing any such thing. He did see a man, who appeared to be either deep in prayer or asleep in the kneeling position; he hesitated about interrupting him, if he was praying, but there was a chance that the man might have found his phone, and if he was asleep, he probably didn't intend to be. "Excuse me," he called aloud to the man, edging his way down the pew. "Sorry to disturb you, but, um..." The man wasn't so much as twitching. If he was asleep, he must be way out of it. "I lost my cell phone earlier; I was wondering..." Roxas was raising his voice as he approached; surely the man could hear him, unless he was stone deaf. And Roxas didn't like how still he was. "Excuse me...sir? Are you all right?" All of a sudden, the dimly-lit church seemed positively spooky. The hair on the back of his neck was standing on end as he gingerly touched the man's shoulder. "Sir? Are you okay?"

No response.

Roxas's nerve suddenly broke. The blood draining from his face all at once, he bolted out of the church to the rectory in a blind panic and hammered on the door, hardly thinking about what he was doing except that he needed to get help _now_. "There's a dead man in the church," he babbled as soon as the door opened. "He's just kneeling in one of the pews...I thought he was praying, but he wouldn't move..."

Father Stone had never been given to any major outburst of emotion, even now, and he took control of the situation in an instant. "Show me where he is," he said, laying a hand on Roxas's shoulder, and some of the blind panic seemed to fade. Without an instant's hesitation, he grabbed the priest's hand and all but dragged him into the church to where the dead man was, even though Father Stone was easily more than twice his size. Once they'd reached him, however, there was nothing left for him to do but stand there in an agony of tension; without his cell phone, he couldn't even call 911 while Father Stone looked over the body.

"He's still breathing."

"What?" Roxas said automatically, as Father Stone lay the man down on the pew. Oh...from this angle, he could see the rise and fall of the man's chest, which he couldn't before.

"Thankfully, you seem to have found a live man instead of a dead one." Father Stone lay a hand on the man's forehead, and the man groaned faintly and started to stir. "Good evening."

The man seemed too disoriented to reply to that basic courtesy in kind. "Where the hell am I?" he mumbled, batting at Father Stone's hand.

"Quite far from Hell, I like to think. You're at the Church of St. Jude."

"Oh..." The man blinked a couple times, focused his eyes on Father Stone's face, and jerked back. Roxas couldn't quite blame him; Father Stone was a giant of a man, and the fact that he was wearing all black could only make him more intimidating in this dim light to a man who was just coming around after God-knew-what, whether he saw the Roman collar or no. "Who are you?" he demanded, fear written plainly on his face.

Father Stone only gave him a slight smile. "My name is Father Lexaeus Stone. Most people forget my first name as soon as they hear it. This is Roxas; he very kindly led me to you. And you are...?"

The man was apparently starting to figure out where he was and what was going on around him, and he suddenly started to look more intensely ashamed of himself than any human had a right to - not to mention, Roxas realized as he sat up a little and more light fell on his face, hungover, half-starved, and generally in piss-poor health. "I...I'm nothing. I'm a nobody," he murmured, shaking his head and refusing to make eye contact. "I'm just another homeless boozer. A drug addict. Street trash, waste of space and decent people's taxes. I don't belong here. I shouldn't even be here!" he cried, trying to roll to his feet and escape.

Father Stone rested one hand on the man's shoulder; whether he applied any pressure or not, it seemed to be enough to stop him. "No man should ever say he doesn't belong in his father's house," he said gently. "You are as much God's child as I am, and have every bit as much right to be here as I do."

The man blinked up at him in confusion, the words apparently not sinking in or something. "But...you're a priest," he said, as if that was supposed to explain everything.

"I am still only a man, no greater than you," Father Stone repeated. "Now...what's your name?"

The man stared up at him for a few more seconds, looking scared stiff and like he wanted to be anywhere else, then finally sighed and bowed his head, looking defeated. "...Demyx." If there was a last name to go with it, he didn't seem inclined to give it.

"All right...Demyx," Father Stone said, completely unfazed by Demyx's hesitance or lack of a last name. "May I ask how you happened to come here this evening? Assuming you want to tell, of course. If you'd rather not -"

"No, it's okay," Demyx grunted, still refusing to make eye contact. "I was coming down after shooting heroin, wondering where the fuck I could ever get the money for more by the time I'd need it, and I saw the church and I just...stopped in my tracks. I just couldn't help wondering how I got to where I am now...I just wanted to die. I dunno why I went in. To beg for help or something. I'm just...out of places to go." He buried his face in his hands, seemingly unable to continue. "...I...I haven't eaten in two - almost three days," he whimpered. Roxas's blood ran cold all of a sudden, with a mixture of condemnation and pity and blank, cold fear - this man was in the habit of poisoning himself routinely, he could even see the needle tracks on his arm, he probably hadn't eaten in so long because he'd spent all his money on heroin...but...that could just as easily be Axel. Did Axel ever miss meals because he spent all his money on drugs...?

"Well, the least I could do for you is give you a decent meal," Father Stone said kindly. "Come with me - can you stand on your own?"

"I...think so." Demyx pulled himself to his feet with some difficulty and stood there, wobbling back and forth slightly. "Yeah. I'm...stable." _In that sense, at least,_ Roxas added silently, trying not to scowl. Out of all the washed-up homeless boozers and drug addicts in the city...why did it have to be a complete stranger who happened to wander into the church at the right time for Roxas to come in and find him? What set this particular half-stoned loser apart and entitled him to any better fortune than the thousands of other half-stoned losers out there? Who let him get lucky?

_Why couldn't it have been Axel?_

Father Stone only nodded, seemingly unaware of Roxas's totally uncharitable thoughts. "I haven't eaten yet, and it would be as easy to prepare enough for two or more as for one." He glanced over at Roxas, as if wishing he would excuse himself but unwilling to simply ask him to leave.

Roxas was about to make some excuse and leave, and look elsewhere for his cell phone, but Demyx spoke first. "Feh, he can come or go as he wants," he said, his voice sounding almost bitter, but the bitterness seemed directed mostly at himself. "He might learn something from me. Like 'don't do this shit'." He looked straight at Roxas for the first time, and his face twisted into a sort of sick smile, though he looked like he wanted to cry at the same time. "I was about your age when I got started. Just think - one bad day, one bad report card, one bitchy mother, one party you weren't supposed to go to, one person saying 'try this, it will make all your problems go away'...one weak moment, and in six years, this could be you."

All of a sudden, Roxas wanted to cry too. That hadn't been how Axel got started - in fact, at one time, he'd kind of been the sober voice of reason for Reno, at least when Reno was still alive. Reno had always been the party animal; in fact, the accident report said in as many words that he'd been drinking before the crash. And once he was gone...Axel just fell apart. He didn't know how to deal with that kind of pain, any more than the rest of them, and his solution had been to drink it away, or try to. When alcohol hadn't proven strong enough, he'd turned to meth, to cocaine, to anything that would make him feel good again for a little while...and just like that, Roxas had lost both brothers for the price of one. Maybe Axel wasn't dead, yet, but then again, for all Roxas knew, he might be. He might as well be. All it had taken was one moment of weakness, one voice saying 'try this, it will make it all better'... "I'll stay," he muttered, sounding sour without meaning to in an attempt to hide how close he was to tears. "If I could find my cell phone, I'd call Mom and tell her I won't be back for a while."

Father Stone gave him a faint smile, leaving Roxas unsure whether he was totally unaware or totally aware of what he was thinking, and gestured for both of them to follow him back to the rectory. Thankfully, it was a very short walk, because it would have been embarrassing to be caught in such strange circumstances and odd company. Roxas had never been inside the rectory before, and was a little surprised to discover it was very much like a normal house on the inside; Demyx was looking around with his hands stuffed in his armpits, as if he was afraid to touch anything. "Take a seat in the dining room, both of you," Father Stone said casually, disappearing into a side room. "I have something for each of you." They obediently sat down at the dining room table, in an uncomfortable silence; Roxas was starting to wish he'd just gone home, and Demyx simply looked miserable. Roxas wanted to tell him to get over himself already, but he just knew it was about the worst thing he could do, over and above decking him with a chair, most likely.

It seemed to take an hour for Father Stone to come back, though Roxas's watch said it was only a few minutes; he was carrying a small velvet box, which he handed to Demyx. "Remember, no matter what you've done or what a mess you think you've made of your life, you will always have a Father watching over you, ready and waiting to take you back," he said in a soft voice as Demyx opened the box to reveal a gold crucifix on a matching chain. "That is real gold. If you want, you can sell it and use the money to buy more heroin...but if you keep it, you will always have something much better than heroin to sustain you."

Demyx looked so awed and touched, as he fingered the chain with one hand and rubbed at his eyes with the other, that Roxas just didn't have the heart to resent him for a moment. "Can...I stay here for a while?" he finally asked in a tiny, cracked voice. "'Cause...I just know that if I go back out there, especially with this...I'm gonna pawn it in a heartbeat. No matter what I tell myself I'm gonna spend the money on, it's all gonna go to heroin sooner or later. And I just...can't go back to that..." He trailed off, unable to continue for tears.

Father Stone patted him gently on the shoulder as he began to cry in earnest. "You may stay as long as you like," he murmured, in as soft a voice as such a giant was likely capable of. "You may also leave whenever you choose, but I will not send you away."

Demyx buried his face in his hands, too overwrought to speak, and Father Stone tactfully motioned Roxas into the side room with him; it turned out to be a small study. Roxas tried not to let himself start feeling sour and angry again - Demyx _was_ just some random drug addict, who just happened to wander into the church and pass out at the right time; how did that earn him a gold crucifix? Roxas had lost two brothers, one so suddenly they didn't find out until he was already gone and one in the most painfully slow way imaginable; what recompense did he get? A gold crucifix would seem pretty slim payback...but then, why should it matter if he got more than Demyx? What had Demyx lost in six years that one bit of jewelry couldn't begin to compensate for? "All right, what's this about?" he asked, trying not to sound surly and preoccupied no matter how he felt.

Father Stone gave him another faint smile, but it was rather wry this time. "You're not feeling...precisely charitable to our new friend, are you?"

Well, Roxas would hardly call Demyx a friend on such short notice no matter what, but that wasn't really the question. "No," he grunted, since there was no point in hiding it. "...I just...can't help thinking about Axel," he added after a moment, when more explanation seemed necessary. "Wondering where he is, what's going on with him...wondering why I haven't heard from him in years, and this...random stranger pops up out of nowhere, and all of a sudden, for him, it's all good. How does he deserve a happy ending and not Axel?"

He looked down at his shoes, feeling ashamed of himself for that admission, until Father Stone lay a hand on his shoulder and he was forced to look up again. The priest was not smiling now, even faintly, and Roxas was certain he was about to get a lecture on charity. "I had a feeling it was something along those lines," Father Stone said as softly as was possible for him. "I can hardly blame you - after what happened to your brothers, both of them, I would be surprised if you didn't take this personally somehow. But first of all, it's hardly 'all good' for Demyx now. He's made a start just by realizing he needs to change, and taking a step in that direction, but he has far to go before he can finally break the chains that tie him to the drugs. I have hope for him, but he may yet fail. Second - to someone else, Demyx is that lost brother, the one they hope and pray will come to their senses and come home and fear never will, and Axel is only one more drug addict among thousands. And to most people, they are both useless addicts, scum of the streets, that the world would be better off without." Roxas blinked, and clenched his fists in sudden anger at people like that, upset on behalf of both Axel and Demyx. "And remember this - to an extent, these people have a point. But if you allow that one 'useless' drug addict is still a human being after all, and can be saved, you allow that all drug addicts are human and can be saved, your brother as much as this stranger. To save Demyx is to allow hope for Axel."

"...Oh," Roxas mumbled, looking down at his shoes again. It honestly hadn't occurred to him that Demyx might also have a family somewhere, who missed him as badly as he missed Axel. "I...guess you're right."

"One other thing..." Roxas had halfway turned to go, assuming the interview was over, and had to turn back to see what now. Father Stone was just pulling a small, blocky object out of a desk drawer - not a jewelry case this time, but a cell phone. "Is this yours, by any chance? I believe you mentioned in passing that you'd lost yours..."

Roxas sucked in his breath - with all the fuss, he'd all but forgotten about it, except for one brief moment when he wished he could call home. It certainly looked like his, it had the same wallpaper, and when he checked the address book, it had all his contacts, starting with a number labeled "Axel" that hadn't gotten an answer in two years. "Yeah. Yeah, it...is mine," he said, astonished to see it here and now, just like that. Granted, the whole reason he was at the church to begin with was that it was one of the places he might have dropped it, but he'd never expected to simply have it handed to him. "Thanks so much...where was it?"

"Someone found it after the last mass and handed it to me for safekeeping; I didn't know whose it was, and calling the number marked 'Home' got no answer, so I decided to try again later and put it away."

"Yeah, um...we were out of the house all day, and we'd just gotten home when I realized I hadn't seen my phone since before we left. Thanks so much..." Roxas spent the next few minutes just turning the phone over and over in his hand, amazed that it had been that easy - he'd half-expected to spend the evening and well into tomorrow possibly scouring the whole city for it, and possibly never finding it, which would have been unthinkable. "I don't know what I would have done if I'd lost it for good. I mean...if I had to get a new phone, one that didn't have all my contact information...or even a new phone number...I mean...Axel has this number." On impulse, he glanced back out the door into the dining room - Demyx was still sitting patiently at the table, still fingering the crucifix, in no visible hurry to go out and trade his good fortune for more heroin.

_If he really can shake the drugs off and get clean someday...that means Axel can too._

Roxas knew he really ought to call home, and let Mom and Dad know that he'd found his phone and that he wouldn't be home for dinner...but... For some reason, he just had to call Axel's number first. He knew he was all but guaranteed not to get an answer, but...it was worth a shot. If nothing else, he could always hope. And hope no longer felt quite so hopeless as it had before.

* * *

AN: Written for a contest on deviantART. The parameters were to choose one prompt off a list, and one character from each of three lists; Axel and Demyx were on the same list, so I couldn't use them both. I ended up with Roxas, Demyx, and Lexaeus, and the prompt "Cell phone".

Also, whee, my first published AU. I don't really intend to abandon my long-ass storyline, though. I just couldn't come up with anything in the storyline that fit a prompt and used the right characters...all right, this story popped into my head halfway formed and I just had to pick the characters and make a prompt fit.


	2. Prodigal's Homecoming

Why did Roxas always seem to lose stuff at church?

Well, maybe twice wasn't often enough to really call "always". He'd lost his cell phone here months ago, which had been sort of a major incident, but that _had_ been months ago. This was just a missing scarf, not nearly as much of a crisis. Totally different level of importance, totally different time of year. It was the same time of day, though, just past sunset, which probably contributed to the eerie feeling of deja vu he had going on right now. It wasn't like he was going to find anyone passed out in a pew this time, though...that was a total one-off event...he wasn't finding his scarf, either, frustratingly enough; he should probably go over to the rectory and ask Father Stone if anyone had found it...

His heard suddenly stuck in his throat. There, in the middle of the pew, was a man, half-sitting, half-kneeling, with his head down so that his face was invisible...either deep in prayer, or unconscious, or worse...last time, it had been unconscious, but this time, it could be worse... "E-excuse me," he said aloud, his voice sounding horribly loud in the silent church, but he couldn't not speak up. "S-sir? Are you all right?" The last time he'd found someone seemingly crumpled in a pew like that, the man had turned out to have been passed out on heroin, but this time...this time, he couldn't know for sure unless... "Sir?"

"...Huh? Oh - Roxas! Hi!" As it turned out, he'd managed to find the exact same man in roughly the same place and pose, but in a very different condition. When Roxas had found Demyx the first time, he'd been so thin and sickly Roxas had mistaken him for a dead man at first, the aftereffects of six years of heroin and homelessness. Now, if it weren't for the fact that he still had more-or-less the same hairstyle, Roxas would never have known it was the same person. His eyes were bright, his form had filled out some, his skin didn't look nearly so sallow, and he had a sunny grin that just made you smile too when you saw it. In short, he was exactly what every drug rehab clinic in the world would have killed to have for a poster child. Now that he was over his reticence and self-hatred, he was also, as Roxas had discovered more than once, very fond of hugs. "How've you been? What are you doing here so late? Don't tell me you lost your phone again!"

Roxas tried to pry himself out of Demyx's rib-cracking embrace, and eventually Demyx cued in and let go of him on his own. "Actually, no, I lost a scarf this time...oof. You could crush someone if you're not careful, just so you know. I've seen you around a few times, but it feels like we haven't really had a chance to talk yet - how've you been? What have you been up to?"

"Oh, everything," Demyx said, gesturing expansively. "Father Stone keeps hiring me for all sorts of odd jobs around the church. I'm the janitor, gardener, sidewalk shoveler, all-around handyman...someday, God willing, I hope to be promoted as far as music minister." He laughed aloud, a sound the sickly addict from so long ago would never have been able to produce. "In between all that, I do a little bit of motivational speaking for drug rehab clinics, especially ones with a faith-based program, and I'm working on my GED. So, what have _you_ been up to?"

Roxas chuckled, a little shamefacedly. He'd never fallen as far as Demyx had, but that just meant he didn't have so high to climb. A normal life was a major achievement for Demyx, and the same old thing for Roxas. "Oh...you know. The usual. School. Sports. Friends. Same old, same old."

"Hey, there's a lot to be said for same old," Demyx said, punching him lightly in the arm. "So everything is exactly the same? You don't happen to have a girlfriend yet or anything?"

Roxas blushed bright red at that - whether Demyx knew anything, was just guessing, or was just messing with him at random, he didn't know, but he'd scored. "Well...there's this...one girl," he admitted reluctantly. "Her name is Namine. Met her in art class. We've gone to the movies together once or twice - but that still doesn't make her my girlfriend!" he added defensively.

"Well, I'd guess from the way you're blushing, you wouldn't mind if it did," Demyx laughed, winking at him. "So...art class, huh? Is she an artsy type, or -"

"Wait a minute." Roxas wasn't interrupting just to save himself from further embarrassment, though that was a helpful side effect. He'd just noticed something wrong with this picture. "Where's your gold crucifix?" The day Demyx had stumbled half-stoned into the church and passed out, all those months ago, Father Stone had given him a gold crucifix on a matching chain, telling him he was free to sell it to buy more heroin, but that if he kept it, he'd always have something better than heroin to sustain him. Roxas knew all that as well as Demyx did; he'd been there. And he'd never seen Demyx without the crucifix since. Why wasn't he wearing it now? Had he decided to reserve it for special occasions, was it hidden under his clothing, or had the demons of his past come back to haunt him, and proven too powerful for him to keep at bay?

_That can't be it. Father Stone said that if Demyx can be saved, so can Axel - that means that if Demyx can fall again, so can Axel. And I couldn't take that. If Axel ever comes back, I want him to stay...not just fall back into his old habits...I just want him to come back, and come back to stay...Reno is already gone, I can't lose my other brother...oh, God, I feel like I've already lost him...none of us have heard a word from him in almost three years...please, just let him come back..._

Demyx sighed and closed his eyes for a moment, his smile fading as his hand went to his chest where the crucifix normally hung. "I gave it away," he said in a low voice, as if admitting to something shameful. "I gave it to someone who seemed to need it as badly as I needed it when I first got it, and with the same words. I also asked him to meet me here at 6:00. That's why I'm here right now, by the way. I was praying that he actually _would_ show up, and that he hadn't just turned around and sold it for more cocaine."

Roxas immediately felt sorry that he'd ever considered the thought that Demyx had given into temptation and gone back to drugs. "I'm sorry," he said, almost automatically. "I know how much that must mean to you, and giving it away on such a gamble...why did you do that?" he felt compelled to ask. "I mean...you actually _wanted_ to give up heroin. Someone who didn't..."

Demyx could only shrug helplessly in response. "Well, he seemed to genuinely want to give up cocaine, he just didn't know how. I just couldn't leave him hanging or anything." He sighed, his gaze wandering off into space. "I just...couldn't. Whenever I see those poor addicts at the rehab clinics, trying to build themselves some sort of drug-free life without having any idea how to live without drugs...all I can think is, that's me. It wasn't that long ago when I was trying to figure out how to live without the drugs I'd built my life around. If I can do it...it's not fair for me to be the only one who can. If I can do it, all of them can do it. We just have to figure out how." He shook his head slightly, his gaze wandering down the the scars on his arms - coin-sized scars, centered around puckered patches on the inside of either elbow. Roxas had to assume they were relics of long-term heroin abuse. "I'm just praying that I called it right, and that he is serious about giving up cocaine - serious and strong enough." He sighed again, then managed a faint smile. "Well, if he's already sold it for drug money, all I've lost is an outward reminder of what I'll always have inside. That's something you just can't sell."

Roxas didn't really know what to say to that, except "At least you have a healthy attitude about it." Even so, he knew it must have been a wrench for Demyx to give it up, no matter how good the cause. It must have meant so much to him...probably the first nice thing he'd owned in the six years he'd been on heroin, the first gift freely given in all that time, no strings attached...maybe the first time in six years he'd been treated as a human, with thoughts and feelings and needs and wants, instead of just another drug addict.

Just then, the church bell began to ring. Roxas jumped, but Demyx only tensed slightly, his eyes locked on the doors, and Roxas suddenly realized - his appointment. He tensed up as well, listening carefully and counting the tones. One...two...three...four...five...six...then silence.

As the echoes of the sixth and final tone died away, he sighed in disappointment, but Demyx was still watching the doors with anticipation. "Drug addicts aren't known for being punctual," he said dryly, not taking his eyes off the doors. "I'll sit here and wait until 6:00 tomorrow if I have to. Even if he's given up on himself, I can't give up on him, any more than Father Stone ever gave up on me...any more than God did."

Roxas couldn't help but smile a little at those words - he had to admit, he hadn't had the greatest hopes for Demyx at first, he'd just...had to believe he could make it, because of what Father Stone had said. If Demyx (who Roxas had indeed thought of as just another drug addict at the time) could break free of his addictions, that meant any drug addict could, including Axel. "You've done well," was all he could say. "You've done very well."

"Thank you," Demyx said, his lips twitching into a half-smile. "It's been a war and a half, I can -" He stiffened up suddenly as the door creaked open, and Roxas instinctively stiffened as well, turning to see who it was. He'd probably have to excuse himself tactfully in a second, if it was the man Demyx had been hoping to meet, but it couldn't hurt to...

"Axel," he whispered, unable to raise his voice any higher for shock. "Axel!" he repeated, his voice rising to a shout all of a sudden, and then no more words would come out. All he could do was run towards him, tears streaming from his eyes, and cling to him as though letting go would mean another three years of heartbreak, agony, and cold, dead silence. He'd had nothing but hope to hold on to for so long; he couldn't let go now.

"...Roxas?" Axel's voice was weaker than Roxas remembered, with a quavery note he vaguely recalled from that last phone call so long ago, the last contact any of them had ever had with Axel...until now, all of a sudden. He was...he was _here_. He was _alive_. He was right here, the real deal...oh, God, he looked so weak, so worn down, so frail... "Roxas, what the fuck...what are you doing here?"

"I was...oh, forget it. It's too long a story. What are _you_ doing here?" Roxas demanded, even as he saw a distinctive gold chain around Axel's neck - Demyx's gold crucifix.

"Well...there was...this guy. He showed up to speak at the rehab clinic, said he'd managed to break his own heroin habit with God's help...fuck, I didn't really listen to his speech, everyone says the same shit, but he looked so happy...and you could see all the scars on his arms from skin-popping, so he wasn't making shit up...I went to talk to him after his speech, and he gave me this and told me to meet him here," Axel said, holding up the crucifix for Roxas's inspection. Yes, it was the exact same one he was used to seeing around Demyx's neck, the one Father Stone had given Demyx all those months ago.

"Well, I'm here," Demyx said, his voice suddenly rough. Roxas jumped a little - he'd almost forgotten Demyx was there at all. "But...Roxas, how do you know this guy?"

"He's my brother," Roxas proclaimed, suddenly feeling protective as he hugged Axel even tighter. "I haven't seen or heard from him in...it's been almost three years...where have you _been?_" he demanded, his attention once more focused exclusively on Axel.

"Prison," Axel said, obviously trying to be dryly humorous, but he just sounded sick and ashamed. "On drug-related charges. I'm out on parole right now; that's why I was in rehab. Part of the terms."

"Oh..." Now Roxas didn't want to let go of Axel ever again. "And...you never had a chance to call home? Or write or...anything?" Axel just looked even more ashamed of himself, at that. "Oh, forget it...I'm just so glad you're back...Mom and Dad will be so thrilled to see you..."

Axel only looked stunned, at that; Roxas couldn't imagine why. "But...I..."

"Go home," Demyx said out of nowhere, his voice not exactly commanding, but somehow very difficult to argue with. "The most important thing you can do is stay away from the people you used to hang out with. Get out of there. Stay with people who care about you, who want you to succeed - where you don't have access to cocaine. If your family is willing to take you back - go home." His voice became still rougher as he said that last bit, but Roxas barely noticed. He was just grateful that Demyx was on his side in this.

Axel still looked doubtful, so Roxas pressed the advantage while he thought he had one. He couldn't let Axel just...disappear again. It would kill him. "Please, Axel...please come home. We've missed you so much...it's all I've wanted for years, was to have you come home again..."

Axel just stared down at him, tears trickling down his cheeks, then smiled faintly, as if he'd almost forgotten how. "...All right, little brother," he whispered finally. "If it means so much to you. I'll come home."

Roxas never did find his scarf. It just didn't seem to matter much anymore. Axel was coming home.


	3. Prodigal's Advocate

"So...I just got another reminder that God works in mysterious ways indeed," Demyx said, opening the door to the rectory and walking in like he lived there - which he still did, somewhat to his chagrin. "One of those astonishing freak coincidences that don't actually happen in real life, except when they do."

"As I believe you sort of mentioned, coincidence is God working anonymously," Father Stone answered calmly, glancing up from his newspaper as Demyx hung his coat up and headed into the kitchen. He did as much of the cooking as he could get away with, because he'd come to despise sitting idle when there was work to do. "So, what mysterious workings of His did you witness tonight?"

"Well...yesterday, I was at Turning Point again, talking to another bunch of parolees...and this one guy seemed really interested. I think he was more impressed with me personally than anything I had to say, but...something was getting through." Demyx couldn't admit that he usually left the clinics feeling like he'd wasted his time, or how sick he was of all the glazed eyes and slack faces of all the addicts who were just waiting for him to finish talking so they could get on with their lives and their drug abuse. It hurt him on a fundamental level; he always wanted to grab each and every one of them by the shoulders and give them a good shake and scream "Don't you SEE what a hole you live in? Don't you SEE that you're basically a slave? Don't you see how much BETTER it could be if you - _just - wanted - it - to - be?_" It had been such a relief to see someone who was actually _listening_, who actually _wanted_ what he was offering...that was probably why he'd been crazy enough to give up the crucifix. He missed it right now. At least, though - and this was the important part - it had paid off. "I talked to him afterward, and...he really seemed to want to give up cocaine. I gave him that...that gold crucifix you gave me and asked him to meet me here, at the church, tonight."

Father Stone blinked lazily at him, and offered him a faint smile. "And did he appear?"

"I'm not even to that part yet," Demyx said, searching the cupboard for a jar of alfredo sauce. "I was in the church, praying that the guy was really serious and was actually going to show up, and Roxas comes in, looking for a lost scarf. You know who I'm talking about - I don't think I've ever met anyone else with that first name - and he and I get to talking about stuff. And then the guy actually does show up, and it turns out - he's Roxas's older brother."

Father Stone blinked at him in genuine surprise for a moment, then slowly smiled. "Really? With Roxas coincidentally right there to meet him? This is good news. This is excellent news." His gaze drifted off into the middle distance, as he briefly lost himself in recollections. "The family lost their oldest son in a car accident several years ago," he explained softly. "Axel - the middle son, who you must have already met - didn't know how to cope with his brother's death, and began self-medicating with alcohol, and then other, stronger drugs. Roxas was only a child at the time, old enough to understand what was going on to an extent, but not why. He knew that one of his brothers was gone, that the other was drifting away, and that his parents' hearts were breaking because of it, but he did not know what to do. By the time he was old enough to really grasp what was going on with Axel...he disappeared. They hadn't heard a word from him in three years, until tonight." He looked back over at Demyx and chuckled slightly. "Congratulations on becoming the instrument of God's work."

"As opposed to the object? Why, thank you." Demyx sighed and sat down at the dining room table, unable to find what he was looking for in the kitchen, and not even knowing what he was looking for anymore, except that it wasn't food. He felt depressed, all of a sudden. After a moment, he stood back up and headed into the kitchen again, determined to find something to make for dinner - not that he didn't still feel depressed, but he couldn't let that get to him. He had to keep making forward progress, and that meant he had to keep moving and not waste time feeling sorry for himself.

"You're upset," Father Stone said from the living room. It was like the man had a sixth sense. "What's troubling you?"

Demyx sighed and gritted his teeth, not wanting to admit that anything was wrong. He wanted everything to be okay now, fine and dandy, he was going whole days without wanting heroin and sleeping in a real bed every night and actually earning a little money and not spending that money on drugs...he was making so much progress, he'd already made so much progress, and was it too much to ask for everything to be okay yet? But it wasn't, no matter how hard he wished it was. The best he could do was pretend it was. But he couldn't not pretend, because not only would it seem horribly petty and ungrateful to admit the truth, it would prove that all was not yet well, and he wanted all to be well so badly. "I'm all right," he said, the strain in his voice giving him the lie. "I'm just...thinking about stuff."

"Well, come in here and think about stuff in a comfortable seat," Father Stone said mildly. "Perhaps talking about the stuff you're thinking about might help you clear your mind."

"I doubt it," Demyx grunted, but he abandoned his search of the kitchen cupboards and headed into the living room anyway. He knew there was no point in resisting; Father Stone wasn't the type to be forceful or demand anything, but he would keep gently pushing and pushing until you couldn't take any more gentle pushing and broke down. It was like Chinese water torture. "It's just...not fair," he burst out suddenly. "He gets to go home and have a family again and sleep in his own bed - they've been waiting for him to come home for years - and...here I am still living off the charity of strangers. No offense; I guess you're not exactly a stranger anymore anyway. But I can't even find my parents anymore. They've moved, since I last lived at home. Old home phone number...doesn't work. Can't track down a forwarding address. I...I can't help but feel...they just gave up on me." _And why shouldn't they?_ one part of his brain still said. _What did you ever do for them? Stole their money, stole their stuff, all to buy more heroin, and lied like a fucking rug about it the whole time...and then disappeared into thin air for four years. Such a loving son you are._

_Axel couldn't have done any better by his family. How did he rate?_

_He lost a brother. At least he had an excuse. What's your excuse? Your mother bitched at you because you had a bad report card, and you just couldn't handle the anguish. Stupid wuss._ And his fingers twitched, almost involuntarily, unable to forget the motions of the needle and syringe...or the sweet, glorious rush that followed...

The physical addiction was gone, after what had seemed at the time to be an unending hell of withdrawal (and he didn't know how he'd ever repay Father Stone for not kicking him out back then, because he must have been completely intolerable). And he could go entire days at a time without consciously wanting more heroin. But banishing the subconscious desire, regaining the ability to simply not think about it, the ability to move on with his life...when would that come?

He suddenly realized he was crying, and hastily rubbed at his eyes, trying to pretend there were no tears there, but he doubted he was fooling Father Stone. "Sorry," he choked, trying and failing to speak normally. "I sound like I'm whining about who got the fattened calf, when really, I'm lucky to be eating at all."

"I'm sorry."

That answer caught Demyx by surprise; he blinked at Father Stone, wondering if he'd really said that or if he'd just imagined it. "Sorry?" he repeated incredulously. "Sorry for what? I mean...you've done everything for me, when you didn't have to do anything. You've got nothing to be sorry for."

"Complacency," Father Stone said without batting an eyelid. "You always seemed reasonably happy here, with your life as it is now, so I never thought to question it."

"I _am_ happy," Demyx protested before Father Stone could finish whatever thought he was on. "I mean - I'm not on the street anymore. I'm not shackled to heroin anymore; my life doesn't revolve around my next high. I eat every day and sleep in a bed under a roof every night. Compared to where I was at this time last year...this is wonderful."

"But you are still unhappy."

Demyx opened his mouth to protest again, and froze in place for a moment before squeezing his eyes shut against more tears. "Yes," he said softly, feeling deeply ashamed of himself. "I...I want to be happy here, so bad...but...I'm just...I'm sleeping in a bed under a roof every night, but it's someone else's guest bed in someone else's house. I work, I earn money, I'm saving money instead of spending it all on heroin...but it's work that, you know, anyone could do, and that I'm only getting because of charity, again, because no one else would hire a drug addict. My goal in life has become my own apartment, a GED, and a job I wasn't just given out of charity. That's not a whole lot to ask, is it? But it seems so unattainable..." He trailed off, rubbing at his eyes and wishing he didn't feel like he was about to break down and bawl. "...And a guitar. I used to own one way back when; I held onto it for a long time, until I finally sold it for drug money just like everything else. And I miss it now. I'm sorry. I sound like such an ingrate. I swear, most of the time, I _am_ happy. I sure as hell don't ever want to go back to where I was. It's just...tonight, for some reason..."

"Tonight, you have no choice but to reflect on what you've lost during all that time you were on drugs."

"And everything I can't get back. I'm sorry. And I'm beyond grateful for everything you've done for me, I really am. Everything I've lost...it's been my own damn fault. And it's too late for anyone to fix. I just have to...pick up what few pieces I have left and see what I can make out of them." What on God's green Earth was the matter with him? He'd actually managed to rescue one of those sad-sack addicts he always wished he could save, or at least put him in a much better position to get out of the pit he was in and onto a track to something like a normal life. This should be a great day. This should be one of the real banner days of his post-heroin life. And instead he was so busy feeling sorry for himself, because Axel got to go back to his family and Demyx didn't even know where his family was, that he couldn't manage to be the least bit happy for Axel; he was bitching about how unfair it was that Axel had a home to go back to and he didn't. Axel was fresh out of prison, for God's sake. What was the matter with him? "You know, I should - I should get to work making dinner," he said as he stood up, more to distract himself than because he felt hungry. "Anything in particular you want?"

"For you to sit down. There's no problem that can best be solved by pretending it doesn't exist."

...Well, how was Demyx going to argue with that? "I guess I can't argue with that," he said as he sat back down, however reluctantly. "But, really...what am I gonna do about it? What can I do about it? There's nothing...nothing."

Father Stone just regarded him with thoughtful contemplation, and not the faintest hint of condemnation or pity or disgust or impatience. Really, the man was way too patient. "Well, you've already stated what your goals were. An apartment, a GED, a job that wasn't given to you purely from charity, and a guitar. What will it take to achieve them?"

"...Well...I'm sure sitting around feeling sorry for myself doesn't help." Demyx rubbed at his eyes ruefully, wishing he could just be left alone to get over himself, then paused to seriously think about that question. "Well...I'm already working on my GED; you know that." Father Stone only nodded, beckoning for him to continue. "And...well, having that will help me find a job, but...I don't know if it will be enough. I mean...then again, I have been lucky enough to avoid arrest and jail time. Just being one more druggie on the street means I was always too anonymous to pursue specially. They've found me high, but never in possession, and you have to be in possession for them to pin anything on you." Father Stone nodded again, clearly not the least bit fazed by anything he was saying. "...But still, I mean - I have scars all over my arms. No one who sees them isn't going to know what they're from. So...have to wear long sleeves all the time. That, and I have no job experience..."

"You've been working here for almost six months now."

"I know," Demyx said distractedly, and then, "...I know," as the implications finally sank in. "If I stay here for a while, doing whatever jobs there are, being a good, steady worker...you'd give me a good reference, right?"

"Of course," Father Stone said with a smile. "There's no reason why I shouldn't; you have been a good worker."

"Thanks." Demyx worked his way a little deeper into the chair, suddenly seeing his dreams in a whole new light. "And as long as I can get and keep a good job, I should be able to afford an apartment...and a guitar. Granted, the sort of minimally-skilled work a GED qualifies you for won't pay for a hell of a lot...I'd probably have to get a college education. At least a certificate or a two-year degree. And that'll cost more money...well, at a community college, not so much. And in the meantime..." The future had been seeming a lot brighter, as he'd started to see his modest dreams and wishes as attainable, but then he suddenly stopped short. "The...church can't afford that, can it? Paying me to do every little thing, plus keeping me here...that takes money. And churches aren't exactly high-profit institutions. You can't afford to spend all that money on rehabilitating one druggie."

"How should that money be spent, then?" Father Stone asked, with a slightly raised eyebrow. "We can't simply not have the floors cleaned or the sidewalks shoveled, so someone would have to be paid to do it. Even if I were to do it myself, or someone else was willing to do it for free, what should be done with the money instead? It's not nearly enough to fund an entire clinic - maybe pay the electric bill. And...would you say that rehabilitation clinics are the perfect solution for every addict who enters one? At least of those you've seen?"

Demyx thought about that, then shook his head slowly. "Not the ones I visit. Most of these guys don't want to be rehabilitated. They've spent so much of their lives around these drugs that they can't conceive of living without them. They're mostly parolees, who - regardless of what impact rehab has at the time - when they go home, home is usually where they got into this shit to begin with. Puts them back in touch with their dealers, their friends they partied and did drugs with - going home is not gonna help them stay clean, it's just gonna keep them in trouble. Even if they wanted to clean up, in an environment like that..."

"Precisely. You, on the other hand, are determined to make a change for the better, and willing to make the effort to achieve it. If I were to send you away, where would you go?"

"A...a homeless shelter, I guess," Demyx said wryly, not sure what other choice he'd have. "I don't even have a car to sleep in. And from there, well...I'd try to keep on the right track, but...it would definitely be a lot more difficult. I...I don't want to promise anything, or make doomsday pronouncements on myself, but...I'd put at least even odds on - by this time next year, being exactly where I was this time last year. And the odds would get worse the longer I spent out there. If I could get a job and a place to stay, I might have a chance, but...to get a place to stay, I need money, to get money, I need a job, to get a job, I need work experience and education I don't have...or, to get money, I go back to the shit I did to make money for heroin. The next step after that, I go back to heroin."

"You have an admirably objective view on your own chances of success," Father Stone said with some approval, thankfully not asking what shit Demyx did to make money before, since that was something he did not want to explain. "So, for the same amount of money, it's possible to add a drop in the bucket towards helping many people at once, or making all the difference to one person. And far be it from me to make promises or doomsday pronouncements either, but I have a feeling that, given the opportunity, that one man will make a much bigger difference."

...Wait, what? Him, make a difference? Him and his tiny little goal of living a modest, normal little life with no heroin involved? "What are you talking about?" Demyx asked, trying and failing to do the math on that. He was just one person, and not very much of one either. Flipping burgers and mopping floors for a living sounded pretty ideal to him; how much of a difference could you make doing that?

"You've already made a difference to one family," Father Stone said with a smile. "There are parents who can finally stop praying for their son to come home, a boy who can stop sleeping with his cell phone next to his bed in the hopes that his brother will call, and a man who has a place to stay where he's loved and wanted and won't be pushed back into the life he left behind. And who knows what further good will result from that."

"But...that was just a coincidence," Demyx protested weakly, not quite ready to believe that little old him could really do anything big.

"Didn't we agree earlier that coincidence was God working anonymously?"

...Well, there wasn't much Demyx could say to that. "Well...there's not likely to be a coincidence every time God wants me to save another druggie," he said, taking a step away from this specific case. "That would be a little too...well...odd."

Father Stone was still smiling, clearly not the least bit dissuaded. "The entire reason Axel happened to be where he was when he was - just in time to meet Roxas and go home - was because he was impressed with you, so impressed that he was willing to go out of his way to meet you on his own time to talk more about giving up drugs. God may use coincidence to work anonymously, but His best agents have always been ordinary men. I don't believe He has you slated for spending your life just getting by."

"...How did this conversation get here, anyway?" Demyx said, mostly so he wouldn't get choked up and embarrass himself. "I think it started with you apologizing for getting complacent and assuming I was happy here...then you talked me into being happy again. Or...something like it. Are you sure God didn't mean for you to be a psychiatrist?"

"Well, if I was a psychiatrist, I don't believe we would have met when and where we did, so I trust that He meant for me to be where I am now," Father Stone said, his smile never wavering as he glanced over at the clock. "In the meantime..."

"Oh, right, I was going to make dinner," Demyx said, standing up quickly and heading back to the kitchen. "Anything in particular you want?"

"I was going to suggest pizza," was the response. Demyx could practically hear the smile in Father Stone's voice. "Give yourself a bit of a rest. You've already done good work tonight."

* * *

AN: Really, I've been working on this...probably since I published Part 2. It just took a year and a half to make it work. The first version had Demyx getting all emo and weepy because nobody loved him and everyone wanted him to go away and stop being around good, respectable people, and...yeaaaah, that needed some serious reworking. At least now he's self-conscious about his self-pity.


	4. Prodigal's Epiphany

"...So...what do we do now, I guess?"

"It's for you to decide."

"...You're not gonna kick me out, are you?"

"As I said when we first met, while you may leave any time you wish, I will not send you away. Besides, in this situation, it would be entirely too cruel."

"Thanks...I needed to hear that." Feeling like he had the weight of a large car piled on his shoulders, Demyx sat down on the couch long enough to take his shoes off, then lay down, staring blankly at the wall. Honestly, what else could he do now? Yesterday, he'd had plans for his life, he'd had hopes for the future, he'd had dreams and goals he wanted to accomplish...and today, all of that was gone. The future suddenly seemed as blank as the wall, and the end, no further away. "And you know what the worst part is?" he said aloud, as much to himself as to Father Stone. "It's completely my own fault. I basically asked for this."

"I wouldn't say that," Father Stone said, sitting in his usual chair; he sounded as calm and unruffled as ever, but with an undertone of deep sadness. Somewhere through the haze of his own self-pity, Demyx was dimly gratified that he cared that much. "Your...lifestyle might have put you at risk, but no one asks for a fate like this."

"Well, then, I guess I came as close to it as anyone can," Demyx sighed, trying to make himself melt into the couch. Sadly, that wasn't going to happen any more than he could make today not happen. "Just...why? Why now? Why, when I'm finally getting my life on track and figuring out what I want to do with it...?"

"Well...I suspect that if you were still on the street, you might never have been diagnosed. On the one hand, you wouldn't have to know, but on the other -"

"On the other, it's not like this wouldn't exist if I didn't know about it, I know."

"And when your health began to deteriorate...when would you seek medical attention?"

"I wouldn't. For one thing, where would I go?" Demyx closed his eyes, hoping that just maybe this was all a bad dream and he was about to wake up. No such luck. "But...well, you're right, that's hard to argue with, but...what does that really change? I might not be dying undiagnosed in the street, but...just because I'm diagnosed and here doesn't mean I'm not dying."

"Many people can live perfectly healthy lives for a long time with the HIV virus in their system. You're young, you're otherwise healthy; I see no reason why you couldn't be one of them."

"How long is a long time? Five years? Ten years?"

"Upwards of twenty."

"Oh. That's not...so bad, I guess. But still, most people my age would be looking at another fifty or sixty." Well, maybe he could just go to sleep on the couch. It would be a lot better than having to stay awake and continue to acknowledge how much his life suddenly sucked, and much better than simply lying there and crying, which was what he was already doing. "Besides, doesn't it involve a lot of complicated and expensive treatment?"

"Expensive?"

"Well, yeah. Pharmaceutical companies are out to make themselves money, first and foremost, not to actually help people. I don't have health insurance or a whole lot of money, and the church can't afford -"

"Demyx, do you seriously imagine I would let you die for the sake of money?" Father Stone sounded angry now, which made Demyx freeze up a little; he'd never seen the man angry before, ever, and that combined with his sheer size - seven feet tall at the least and muscular as a bull - made any display of anger from him downright scary, even when all he was doing was sitting in a chair and talking. "No matter what, we will find a way to afford whatever treatment you need. You've already made plans for your future, plans - and a future - that you have as much right to as anyone; why would _anyone_ even _compromise_ that for the sake of money?"

_Jesus, what do I say to that?... _"I'm sorry," Demyx murmured, half on instinct, because it was a smart thing to do when you said something that made a very large man angry. "Thanks for...for caring, though. 'Cause...a lot of people wouldn't...wouldn't spend so much time, money, or - or effort on...on, well, an HIV-positive heroin addict."

"Demyx..." Well, maybe that wasn't the smartest thing he could have said, but at least Father Stone wasn't looking so angry anymore. "Don't apologize. You've done nothing wrong. And please, don't speak of yourself in those terms."

"Why not? Not saying it isn't going to make it not true. I'm an HIV-positive heroin addict. There, I said it again. Ex-addict, I guess would be as accurate, but still."

"Why do you insist on talking about yourself in such terms?"

"Because it's true. That's what I am...all I'll ever be now. I don't have time anymore to become anything else..." Tears had been seeping from Demyx's eyes more-or-less the entire time, but now he couldn't stop himself from sobbing uncontrollably. "You t-told me God had p-plans for me," he choked, barely able to calm himself down enough to talk. "If He did, then...w-why would He do this to me?"

The entire couch creaked, as Father Stone came over to sit down next to Demyx and rest a hand on his shoulder. "I don't know," he said in a quiet, grave voice. "Maybe all He wanted was for you not to die in the street, still addicted to heroin. But I have a feeling there's more to it than that. After all, if you'd never come here, you would never have been diagnosed, and without a diagnosis, there would be no treatment until it was much too late. I can't answer for why He let you become infected in the first place, but He may well have led you here to save your life."

Demyx sighed, trying to keep hold of his anger at the general unfairness of everything, because he didn't have much else to hold onto right then. But it was awfully difficult, in the face of all that quiet calm. "Well...I guess...this is a lot better than...dying in the street, still addicted," he said, wiping his eyes and struggling to breathe normally so he could talk normally and stop crying like a baby. "But...like I said...I gotta afford treatment first."

"There will be a way," Father Stone said firmly. "If you can't afford it on your own, we'll find some way."

"Thank you," Demyx sighed, closing his eyes again. "I know you told me not to apologize, but I feel like I should...I'm sorry for being such a burden."

"Demyx..."

"I really am grateful to you, though. I can't even explain how grateful. If it weren't for you, I _would_ still be out on the street shooting heroin, and probably infecting God-knows-how-many other addicts with my old dirty needles...maybe that's why He brought me here. To break the cycle of infection." Having said his piece, Demyx fell silent, mentally resigning himself to spending the rest of his very short life in Father Stone's guest bedroom, mopping floors and shoveling sidewalks until he was too ill to stand up without help. At least, he reminded himself as Father Stone stood up and left the room, it was better than dying on the street, still hooked on heroin...

_Remember how it made you feel?_

_Shut up._

_Remember how amazing it was...that very first high..._

_Fuck you. I know the trick now - you can spend your whole life chasing it, but no high is ever as good as the first._

_You wanted to make a better life for yourself. You can't have that now. You don't have time. But you do have some money saved up...enough for a few good rounds...or maybe just enough to OD, and you can go out happy and high as a kite, without having to wait until you've wasted down to a skeleton with AIDS..._

_No thank you. I actually have some self-respect now, and...seriously. I already know there's not much sand in the hourglass anymore; why the hell do I want to waste what I have left?_

_Do you want to die that way? Alone in a hospital, hooked up to machines, can't even crawl out of bed to take a shit, the only people you see anymore are nurses who treat you like shit because hey, look, a heroin addict with AIDS, he totally deserves to die like this...come on. Dogs get put down when they're too sick to save, just so they don't have to go through that. No one's gonna do it for you, so do it yourself. Die with a needle in your arm and a smile on your face. It's better that way._

_It's not better that way._

_Remember that very first high? Remember?_

_I don't _want_ to remember._ Demyx's eyes locked on the crucifix on the far wall, the one bit of decoration in an otherwise empty space, praying for a bit of help and reassurance against the suddenly all-too-seductive little voice that was invading his brain. He _didn't_ want to go back to shooting heroin in the street, he _didn't_ want to commit suicide just so he wouldn't have to face a slow and miserable death from AIDS later, except that stupid little voice was starting to make him think that maybe he _did_...

_Look, if You had a plan for me, what was it? Was it just to die with a few friends and a little dignity? Was it just so there'd be one less HIV-positive addict on the street leaving contaminated needles behind? Was it so I would have a chance at a happy, normal life before my premature, not-undeserved death? So I'd live a few years longer than I would have on the street? Please...I just want my life to _mean_ something...all I ever wanted was to live like a normal human being, without needing heroin to get by...can I still have that? Did You intend for me to have or be something more? Or...not even that much?_

_Do I even matter, in the long run? Or am I just a pawn to be sacrificed to some greater cause?_

He blinked, and really _looked_ at the crucifix, as something suddenly clicked in his head. All his jumbled-up fears and worries and desires went away, and the only thought left in his head was one simple prayer - _Let not my will but Thine be done._

_As soon as I figure out what it is._

_Whatever You have planned for me, You'll give me enough time to make it happen, right? Okay...that makes me feel a lot better. And if all You wanted was for me to die with some dignity - if You meant for me to be a supporting character in someone else's story rather than the hero of my own...well, then, thanks for not letting me die strung-out in the street._

_That just...doesn't seem right, though. Father Stone said that it was better to pay me to do all these odd jobs around the church than to spend that money on a rehab center or something because the money was better spent making a huge difference to me than a small difference to a lot of people at once. He said that, given the opportunity, I could make a much bigger difference...well, if that's not what You're planning, it's not what You're planning. And if it is what You're planning...well, what kind of a difference could I make? I'm just...well...an HIV-positive ex-heroin addict..._

As confused and terrified as he'd been a few moments ago, it was downright miraculous how clearly Demyx was thinking now. _He also said that Your best agents are ordinary men. I'm as ordinary as they come, so I guess there's hope for me yet. But what I've been doing - cleaning floors and shoveling sidewalks and doing a bit of motivational speaking on the side - is not likely to make a huge difference to anyone. I mean, really. Talking to people is not likely to make them change their ways and give up drugs immediately. To really help them requires - well, more like what Father Stone did for me. Give them a place to stay where they can't get drugs and won't get kicked out, give them something constructive to do, show them patience, kindness, give them a listening ear and a bit of advice when they need it...just treat them like a decent human being with all the rights and benefits thereof._

_If I could just find a way to do that on a larger scale...what would it take?_

Before long, Demyx had grabbed a pen and a notebook, and was so busy writing and planning that he didn't notice Father Stone had re-entered the room until he spoke. "I left you alone for a few minutes to allow you to compose yourself," he said with more than a hint of amusement, while Demyx jumped in surprise and nearly dropped what he was doing. "It seems to have worked."

"I just - started thinking, you know?" Demyx said, scrambling to pick up the pen he'd just dropped. "Started thinking about what I was actually supposed to be doing with my life, and...I got a little sidetracked. What I ended up with is a kind of a rough plan for a combination homeless shelter, drug rehab center, and career training center. Maybe with an attached restaurant."

"...A restaurant?"

"Yeah. Gives the residents a place to, you know, work and have an actual job, plus it could help with the funding for the rest of the place. That can come later, though." Feeling an odd combination of proud and embarrassed, Demyx handed the notebook over to Father Stone, to let him look at the plans he'd roughed out for himself. "I was just...kind of going off what you did for me, and...working out how to do it for a bunch of people at once."

"Demyx..."

"Yeah, a little over-ambitious, I admit. I couldn't help myself."

"No. This is wonderful. But do you know what it will take to make it a reality?"

"Money and time. A lot of money and time. Plus a place to put it; it would probably be easier and cheaper to buy and renovate an existing building than to buy an empty lot and build a whole new one, especially given where this would need to be. Though it's a massive chunk of change either way. There is going to have to be a huge fundraising campaign to get it off the ground...I suppose I'd be as worthy a poster boy as anyone you're likely to find. I mean, at least the concept has actually worked for me, and I'm still young and healthy enough to be semi-photogenic as long as I wear long sleeves. Do you think the bishop -"

"Are you the same Demyx I left in this room five minutes ago?"

"Uh...pretty sure, yeah. It's amazing how a death sentence can really focus your mind on what's important. Anyway, I was hoping there might be space for a chapel and a garden in among everything else, but that's all gonna depend on space, especially if we buy and renovate an existing building. This is really gonna need to be in the inner city, bad part of town to reach its target audience; on the plus side, real estate should be cheaper there."

"Demyx, what _were_ you doing while I was out of the room?"

"Mostly praying. And then writing. How many beds do you think is a good number to start off with? Fifteen? Of course, we might get mothers with young children. Maybe even mothers with drug-addicted babies - oh, jeez. We'd definitely need to do _something_ for the children; it's not like we could turn their mothers away just -"

"Demyx!" That was loud and forceful enough to get Demyx to shut up for a minute, and cringe a little bit, but thankfully Father Stone was still smiling. "Well. There is definitely a fire in your eyes now. And if it's true that you got this idea from praying, I have no choice but to assume the Holy Spirit put it into your head. Tell me, what would you do to make this a reality?"

"You'd do better to ask me tomorrow if you want a more level-headed response, but right now, _anything_. I'd trade ten years of my life -" And Demyx stopped short instantly, suddenly all too aware that the entire rest of his life might be no more than ten years, and could quite easily be even less. Trading away ten years of his life might well involve him dying eight years ago. "Except...ten years might be all I got left," he continued, in a very subdued tone. "Maybe not even that much. But...anyway. You see where I'm going with this. It _has_ to happen. Because it not happening...well, leads directly to more HIV-positive heroin addicts dying strung out in the street. And we can't have that."

The room was silent for several long seconds, while Father Stone just _looked_ at him and Demyx tried to figure out what was going on in his head - whether he thought that Demyx really was divinely inspired or whether he believed Demyx really believed in this project, or whether he thought it was some impulsive fantasy that would be forgotten by the next morning. "Demyx, there is a fire in your eyes such as I have almost never seen," he said finally. "I can't doubt that you have the passion to make this a reality. Do you have the dedication?"

"Just try me," Demyx said, surprised by the sound of his own voice. "All I really need is the money, the support...and the time..." The time - that was it. That was the one thing that no human being could give him. That was the one thing he would never know if he had enough of, until it turned out that either he did...or he didn't.

_Just trust God. If this is what He wants you to do with your life, He'll give you all the time you need._

"Father...if I don't get the chance to...to see it through...will you...?"

"Of course."

"Thank you. That's all I really need."

* * *

AN: I know I had this marked as Complete. But then, all of a sudden, I realized that I HAD to add more to the story.

The more I think about it, the more surprised I am that I wrote this story at all, because most people who know me know that I'm not a particularly devout Catholic (or don't know that I'm Catholic at all). AND YET THIS HAPPENED.

Also, I was this close to calling this chapter "Prodigal's Gethsemane". I still might, when it goes to deviantART.


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